Date: Sun, 26 Jun 2005 20:12:43 +0000
From: Charles Underwood
Subject: Life Saga-Life Begins: Chapter Two
Disclaimer: This story contains scenes and actions of an adult homosexual
and homoerotic nature. If you are resident in a country where your age does
not permit you to view such material, please leave this page immediately.
This story also contains references to real people. The author makes no
claim to know the sexualities of any of the characters within the story
including in particular the members of the Backstreet Boys. This story is
entirely fiction and does not represent the views of any of the members of
the sites with which it is affiliated. Thank you.
Life Begins:
Chapter Two: Chance Meeting
When Charles woke, he found himself in a different world. The first thing he
noticed was the water, lapping at his heels. He heard it gently flow over
his feet before receding again and felt it reach higher each time. It took a
while until he could open his eyes. When he did so, he was half deep in
water and beginning to shiver. His eyes searched around and immediately
found his laptop. Surprisingly it had survived the entire event and lay a
few paces in front. He felt his body with his mind and examined it for
injuries. Finding none, he moved cautiously to his feet.
Pain throbbed dully in his head and left leg where gashes had bled freely
into the surrounding water. Ignoring the slight pain, he stood out of the
water and took up the laptop. Searching around in the darkness, his eyes
became accustomed to the dim and he soon found a stairwell leading up into
what was the bottom of the ship. It was twisted and bent out of shape to
such an extent that it had become climbable. Tearing his shirt into two
strips, he bound his leg with one and lashed the laptop to his back with the
other before beginning to climb.
He headed up what had once been a service stairwell for an hour before it
came to an end. The climb was made harder due to the twisted metal that
stuck out at awkward angles and the shudders that the ship made as the waves
rolled it in the ocean. Electrical sparks shorted across the path in several
places and broken furniture and china littered the path. He had to tear
several more pieces from his shirt to bind burns and gashes that he obtained
during the climb. He kept the remaining piece of cloth clean in his pocket
and when another stray shard of stair caught his left arm and tore out a
chunk of flesh, he left it there and removed the piece from his head to use
instead.
The engine room floor was still gaspingly hot and was surprisingly still lit
by the backup generators despite the two inches of water that covered the
floor. Charles edged his way around floating objects that were once parts of
machines or people. The switchboard and radio station were dead; a metal arm
skewered the operator to the sparking mainframe. Charles felt his stomach
lurch and he hastened through the room towards a doorway. Then, he heard
sounds. Voices; other people. His heart jumped with relief but his mind
remained cold. Resisting the urge to race through the door to meet the other
survivors, he walked carefully into the second engine room.
The water tight bulkheads appeared to have been deployed in time here and
the room had not suffered much water damage. Such was the reason for the
backup generator lighting the path in pale, unfeeling yellow. Figures stood
and lay on the metal ceiling underneath a gaping jagged hole. As he stumbled
into the room, a streak of red obscured his vision. Remembering the graze on
his head, he brushed the blood from his eyes and walked over to the group.
"Who is in charge here?" he asked in a tone that was far more authoritarian
that he thought himself capable of. "How many people have survived?" A tall
woman answered him dully. "No one is in charge. We got here somehow and now
we wait for the rescue. We sent up two flares in the last hour but there has
still been no response from anyone."
"And how many are you?" he asked, looking at the small huddle of people. "We
got here first and we tried to help the others, but the stairwell collapsed
and the rest of them are trapped two decks below us. There is no other way
out of the room but upwards and the water is rising." She looked at him with
desperate eyes, but her voice had not the strength to convey the sorrow and
disgust she truly felt. Charles nodded. "I shall see if I can help. Have you
any flares remaining?" She nodded and handed him three sticks. "These are
left. But they are damp. We don't know if they will work or not." Ignoring
the mutters from a couple of men standing near the hole, Charles took the
flares and asked, "Where are the others?"
In answer, the men growled, "Through there. But there is no hope for them.
We need those flares to signal for help!" Charles turned to them and glared
coldly. "This liner will be seen by radar for thousands of miles and the
flares you sent up will have been spotted. People are coming. Is it not
right that the others have a chance of survival? These flares might provide
that. Don't leave the ship," he said as a young boy tried to climb a
makeshift stair made of broken metal. "The sea is still rough. Believe it or
not but it is safer in here. I'll be back when the others are free," he told
the woman before heading through the hatch that the men had pointed out.
It opened into what had been a storeroom. Except that now what had been the
ceiling was no longer there. A gaping hole filled the space and far below,
broken voices and blinking eyes gazed up at through a mass of broken steel
and wiring. Charles thought quickly. The water would continue to rise faster
and faster and with it the people would be crushed into the blockage. He had
to either remove it or find another way for them to get up. Manoeuvring
carefully around the gaping hole, he jumped the last few meters and found a
twisted fire hose. Teasing the material and bending the metal, he hooked it
over a solid girder and let the end the reel unwind.
Looking around in the gloom of the dusky light from the setting sun and
generator lights, he found a small electric welding drill that had
miraculously not been damaged in the accident. He tugged at it, but it was
wedged fast in between a console and a pile of broken shelving. Tugging at
it shifted the entire mass of metal dangerously but the drill refused to
move. Cursing, he searched for something else he could use. Finding nothing
in the storeroom, he climbed down the hose and scoured the mass of broken
metal, moving carefully as the entire thing shifted under his weight.
Screams flowed up as through the hull as small pieces of metal fell below
into the water. "Hello!" he called downward. "Can you hear me?" The response
came at once, "Yes! Who are you? Get us out of here!" A collection of voices
responded in fear and confusion. "Is there anything down there of use? A
crowbar or saw or something?"
"The water has ruined everything, but there is a metal pipe. Is that of
use?" Charles thought for a moment before answering, "Yes. If it is long
enough, pass it up!" A few moments later after much splashing of water and
strained voices, a long thin iron pipe was pushed through the mesh of
rubble. Charles seized it at once and hauled it up. It was about ten feet in
length; the perfect lever. Steeling his heart, he left the crying voices
behind and slowly climbed back up the reel, struggling against the added
weight and cumbersome pipe. He turned his attention back to the buried drill
and focusing his strength, shoved the pipe into a gap and pushed down hard
on the other end.
The rubble toppled at once but most of it fell toward the wall. A clamour of
metal on metal rang through the hull. A wave of fearful cries echoed around
as the mass subsided. Ignoring the new wave of pain across his chest,
Charles stepped up from where the edge of a metal table had knocked him down
and wrenched the drill from the rubble. "What on earth are you doing in
there?" demanded a voice from the engine room. "Pass me the generator cable;
I can get the others free! Quickly we don't have much time!" he replied.
Pausing in the doorway for a moment, the man considered the command before
acting. Charles linked the drill to the power supply and climbed back down
the hose. Within moments, he had begun to cut a hole in the debris.
He had cut a half circle in a large girder when screams from down below were
accompanied by a rush of water. In seconds, the water had risen several
feet, bringing the pale and scared survivors towards the mesh of debris with
surprising speed. "Get back!" yelled Charles as he tossed the drill aside.
He stamped hard on the partially cut disc. It buckled. He stamped again and
the ledge creaked alarmingly as part of the supporting girder fell away. "Up
here!" he yelled into the opening. A scramble of men and women rushed
through the opening as the water carried them higher. There were twenty in
total, each cut and bruised and soaking.
The last man up was unconscious. He was hauled through the gap by four
others, each filled with despair for their comrade. "Get up the hose and go
through into the other room. This entire area has become unstable,"
instructed Charles. "What about Nick?" asked one of the four. "We can't
leave him here!" Charles bent down beside the unconscious man. Something
about him looked familiar but he could not place it and there was not time
to think on it. "How long has he been out?" Charles asked. "Not long, only a
few minutes. But he is hurt real bad," replied another of the four.
"Help the others," instructed Charles. "I'll bring him up." At first they
stood there, unsure of what to do. "Go!" he urged. "There is not time!"
Turning back to the fallen man, he lifted the remains of his shirt away to
reveal a large gash across his abdomen.
Blood oozed thickly from the wound and his chest moved erratically as the
injured body tried to hang on to life. Charles removed the bands from his
leg and chest and, ignoring the pain that brought, formed a crude wad of
cloth and pressed it hard over the cut. Holding it in place with more cloth,
he bound it as tightly as he could and lifted the man to his shoulder.
Slowly, his eyes opened and he tried to speak. "Stay quiet for now. Save
your strength," Charles told him. Everyone had now climbed the hose and the
group of four who had hauled Nick through the gap were standing above,
looking downward.
Unable to hold the man and the laptop at once, now the straps had been
removed, Charles laid the computer carefully on a high ledge and began the
arduous process of climbing the rope whilst carrying the swooning body. It
took half an hour before he made it to the top. As the four men pulled him
over the edge and laid Nick out on the small edge around the gaping hole in
the storeroom ceiling, Charles prepared to go and fetch his laptop. "What in
God's name do you think you are doing?" asked one of the four men; blonde
and wearing white trousers that were now a dirty grey. "I must get my
laptop. It is my life. Without it I am ruined."
"Are you insane?" asked another. "You can't go back down there! This entire
place is too unstable; it's falling apart!" As if heeding his words, the
ship lurched. Nick groaned and tried to stand. "No buddy. We'll carry you
for now," the blonde one told him. He lifted Nick up with the help of three
of the others and they made towards the door. "You are crazy to go back down
man, but there ain't nothing I can do to stop you," said the remaining man.
"God save you if you go back." Charles stopped at the edge. He could make it
in time. The water had not yet reached the ledge. His work, his life lay a
mere few meters down. He could easily go back and get it. He needed it.
Without it he was nothing; incomplete.
A shudder reverberated through the hull, followed by an almighty crash that
sent everyone sprawling. The entire room tilted sideways and a mass of metal
hurtled around the room. Nick was thrown into Charles and the two flew
across the room to the other side of the ledge. The metal ledge had been
completely dislodged and shards of metal were sent soaring into the air
along with the laptop. The dust settled leaving Nick and the laptop
teetering on the edge of the hole yet on opposite sides. Charles lay between
the two in a mass of rubble. When he opened his eyes, the ship moved again.
Fate left the choice open to him. His life? His work? Everything he had ever
been and had ever done lay within that computer. His future. His career. No
one would blame him for saving it over the stranger.
But those eyes. Those blue eyes that were so like his own. Nick hung on with
one good arm around a metal peg. But he could not hold forever and his grip
was slipping. The computer was also slipping; sliding ever closer to the
watery doom. Charles looked one way and found knowledge and understanding.
Then he looked towards the other and found meaning. A connection charged the
air and for a brief moment, all other concerns became nonexistent. Then,
time moved forward. Charles lunged forward just as the laptop plummeted down
towards the water. A loud splash echoed around the storage room followed by
shouts and screams from the people in the adjacent engine room. He had
chosen.
* * * * *
That's the second part. Cheers for the feedback; nice to already have a good
response. Starting on the next few ideas now to build the parts up. Keep
reading and writing! lankymon@hotmail.com